End.

Wrapped things up at the Cit Pat. I'll post some story work later, probably. This is from my almost last assignment. And the wordtern on our last day.

Prom.

Saturday was prom night for a couple local high schools. Unlike the Midland/Dow prom two years ago, I wasn't kicked out. Instead, a girl asked me to dance.

Mist.

I keep imagining that one day I'll see something, quickly pull over, and then my car will fall apart.

Superhero.

Gotta love it when the local superhero walks through your frame. And here's some blue and yellow for you. Not like the song. And not like that song, either.

April.

Has been a slow month.

Hooper.

A 16-year-old "hardcore hula hooper".

Sunday.

Sometimes I forget how quickly things can change in a single day. How you put yourself in so many different situations and cultures. A day can start off with pleasant blue skies and almost no wind, temperatures peaking at 70 degrees, and end with a twenty degree drop, a strong wind and a wintry mix occasionally falling from the sky.

You can wake up to birds chirping and cars zipping by, head to a community event filled with the sound of laughter, find your way to a basement grindcore show, the sound of feedback reverberating through your skull, then take a 20 minute drive down a tree-lined country road where the only sound comes from the wind whipping through the trees, and the occasional car slowly turning around to head the other way.

A sunny day, a dimly lit basement, a night sky flashing red and blue.

This was my Sunday. Just a normal Sunday. Maple syrup and sheep shearing demonstrations, pot cookies and rice krispies being passed around ($5 a bag), accident investigators carefully observing tread marks and laying down orange and green markers as they process the scene.



"I don't do photos," said Jan Corwin, until her son pushed her into giving me her name. "Just do it," he said.

"Richard, this is Sean, he does photos," 'Twan said. I extended my hand. "Hey Richard, nice to meet you." "Yeah, man. You too," he said, accepting my outstretched hand.

"Before you take any photos, let me make sure the body isn't visible," said Sgt. Brenning. Two minutes later he stopped me. "Hold on, I thought I saw an arm dangling." There wasn't.



It's a strange thing. My ears were ringing during the whole drive to the accident. I had forgotten to get earplugs; it was pretty miraculous I heard the call from Scott. My head was spinning as I left the Alley and made my way through the smoke haze; as soon as I got out to the scene, the ringing became deafeningly loud. My head spun again when the Sergeant described the accident to Aaron (the reporter) and myself. Two cars were following each other, one attempted to pass, both lost control. One hit a telephone pole, the other hit a tree, shearing the car in half. Two died -- a boyfriend and girlfriend, ages 20 and 18. The boyfriend's brother was ejected from the car, but survived. The couple recently had a kid, Carter is 9 months old.

Sheared. Funny, how that word came up again. Except last time it was surrounded by a choir of little kids shouting "ewww", "grosssss", or "whoooaaa." Electric shearers, handheld. A skilled hand at work.

The road, unlike the petting zoo, and definitely unlike the basement at Bird Alley, is not a playground, said lewismedlock in a comment.

Yup.

Amigo.

Basketball had me driving at least an hour every game. So before one game, I went for a walk.



And this is Wayne.

Hair.

I stopped for this cart.



And found this feature.









On a side note, they were listening to this song, and it's a frickin' weird song.

iPad.

From wrestling. She's pretty serious.



This is what she was shooting.



And here's some light during a community college basketball game.

Auto.

On my wrestling. That's all.

Blue.

I know Jackson in the winter as being cold and gloomy, but it's been warm and clear blue skies (up until about 3pm, usually).

Start.

In Jackson, where there are are more sirens and less Dow.